


A Stolen Moment

by StarryEyedSpaceGirl



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 04:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryEyedSpaceGirl/pseuds/StarryEyedSpaceGirl
Summary: Deacon and I make it safely to the Castle after a synth extraction. I'm enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet in the Commonwealth and contemplating whether or not one of us will finally be brave enough to tell the other how we feel. Fem!SolexDeacon one-shot, and I just want to say that I love these two with all my heart!





	A Stolen Moment

It's a perfect summer's night in the Commonwealth. The sky above me is a deep blue, fading into a pale pink skyline. The sun is setting in a fiery explosion of orange, and the few clouds that decided to make an appearance are wispy and low slung, like notches in a gun-slinger's belt.

I'm grateful I have the opportunity to enjoy the view. Only a few hours earlier, Deacon and I fought our way through a botched synth extraction, barely managing to deliver the boy to the drop off point after the Institute caught our tail. Thankfully The Castle was nearby and we got some much-needed backup from General Preston Garvey.

But now the excitement's over, and I'm perched on a corner of the fortress near some heavy artillery overlooking the water and catching up on some much needed quiet time. The Minutemen are unusually at ease after their brief encounter with the Institute, and their patrols are kindly avoiding my small corner of their domain.

Breathing in deep, I catch a whiff of warm earth on the backside of a cool breeze. Somewhere in the courtyard, Diamond City Radio is broadcasting, and someone is whistling along to the music. It's Deacon most likely, and my searching eyes spy him across the ramparts. For once I have a moment to observe my partner without suspicion. Despite all Preston's assurances that the place is secure, Deacon insisted on checking the perimeter himself.

The man is extremely unpredictable in all things except when it came to security. He can't rest until he's seen a place for himself.

As I watch, he strikes up a conversation with a nearby Minuteman, and within moments feminine laughter echoes across the fortress. I sip my lukewarm Nuka-Cola with some annoyance. It had taken me a long time to get past Deacon's defenses, and I took pride in the fact that he had told me things he hadn't even told Desdemona. Dare I say we'd gotten close? At least I thought there were times he took careful pains to look out for my needs.

But just when I've finally made it, he does this. No matter where we go he manages to draw attention to himself, usually from women. Most of the time its on purpose, but occasionally its not. Not that he can help it. He's a good looking guy, witty, full of charisma, and quick with a smile. My code name may be Charmer, but he truly deserves the title.

And he always manages to appear pulled together. Despite being shot at only an hour ago he still looks as cool and collected as ever.

My heart clenches painfully as the woman reaches out to touch his shoulder, and I look away. There's no reason for me to torture myself. I hadn't planned on falling in love again before I met Deacon. Living in the Commonwealth is hard enough without the pains of heartache, and I'd already had my heart broken enough for a lifetime. But I fell for him. And when I fall, I fall hard. Maybe I'm a cockeyed optimist, but I'd like to believe there's something special between us. I had hoped that our hard-earned friendship would turn into something more, but just when I think I've finally got him nailed down he deflects. He makes jokes. He slithers away.

Of course he's accustomed to keeping a safe distance from everything and everyone, and old habits die hard. But I can be patient, if I want to be. My search for my son is proof enough of that. Give it time and he would see me.

I hoped he'd see me anyway.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, I rub a hand down the torn and muddy dress he'd forced me into wearing. Well, not forced exactly, but I had told him it was a terrible idea. The elaborate sequined get-up I'd worn for the undercover op had a long train that tapered and made it almost impossible to walk, let alone run in. But he'd wanted to go for the posh disguise, and since I knew I looked really good in the dress, I caved for once. My vanity might have been the death of me if Deacon hadn't been carrying a knife in his coat. I'd cut a corner a little too close while we were trying to make a quick getaway, and tore a hole in the dress that almost came up to my mid thighs. The brief stumble made it possible for the courser to catch up to us and we had a hell of time dispatching him, made more difficult by the fact that I was tangled up in a torn and heavy dress. It felt like I was fighting with my arm behind my back.

To say I was embarrassed while he painstakingly chopped off the bottom half of the dress is an understatement, but it didn't stop me from glaring at him for the rest of the evening. After all, it was partly his fault we ended up in that situation.

My butt is going numb so I shift to get more comfortable against the artillery, allowing my bare legs to swing over the edge of the wall. Despite the events of the day, I really couldn't ask for a better way to clear my head. I had a perfect view of the twilit landscape: the horizon a mess of silhouettes from shadowed rocks to the remains of blown-out buildings and skeletal trees. While such a picture had once seemed eerie and terrifying, it now just felt familiar. Normal.

A few months ago I never would have dared to sit anywhere alone, especially undefended like I was. My gun's still within reaching distance, but in all other respects I'm completely vulnerable. From the moment I stepped out of the vault alone, I realized that fear could no longer be a part of my life. My very survival depended on it. So I adapted and became so familiar with this war-torn world that chaos became an old friend.

Nowadays, the butt of a rifle against my shoulder and the smell of gunpowder is more comforting than a warm embrace.

Admittedly, it's taken me a while to get to this point. To not flinch at the staccato of gunfire or the sight of fresh blood on the ground. To not scream at the sight of rotting corpses roaming down empty streets, their macabre forms lurking in every shadow.

Heads tilting unnaturally towards any sound.

Gaping maws hungry for flesh.

My heart rises to my throat the moment I catch wind of the rancid smell of walking death.

I shiver.

"You're not cold, are you boss?"

I would have jumped at the sound of Deacon's voice so nearby if it weren't for the fact that I was used to his strange and sudden appearances.

"No, I was just thinking."

"Thinking?"

"Yeah."

He hemmed. "Seems like a pretty dangerous pastime to me. I know you hate to hear it, but thinking can be pretty dangerous. Do you know why?"

"I have no idea."

"Well there, you've got it. The reason is because thoughts turn into ideas, and ideas can eventually lead to revolutions, and revolutions eventually create democracies."

"Is that right?"

He settled down next to me. "I'd bet my ass on it."

"Well then I'll soon be the proud owner of your ass because all of history is against you."

"America did it."

"And practically no one else."

He shrugged. "Ah well."

I release an exaggerated sigh. "It's a shame you have to part with your ass, but you did bet on it, and there's no going back on your bets."

"Well Charms, there's no one else I'd rather have watching over it than you."

"I'm touched."

"I think you mean I'll be touched. You are taking my ass after all."

I try and fail to stifle a grin. It's moments like these I really try to hold onto.

"But honestly," He says, "nobody back in HQ would ever forgive me if I let you start having your own thoughts and ideas and revolutionary democracies."

"Because I'm supposed to be running their revolution?"

"Because your revolutionary democracy would be way cooler than theirs, and Dez hates to be outdone when it comes to theatrics."

I can't help the laugh that escapes me. Getting into a conversation with Deacon is always fun. It's like Russian roulette. He could start spouting jokes or philosophy or maybe even quote some poetry, but you never really have any idea how it will turn out until the end.

"I swear it's the truth. You already have an army of people willing to stand behind you. All they're waiting for is for you to say the word, and they'd take on the world."

"That's an exaggeration."

"I don't know how you manage to be so smart, but so dumb at the same time. It's impressive really."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He swipes the bottle from my hand and takes a drink. "You just don't get it. Everywhere we go I meet at least one person who would gladly throw themselves into a pit of Mirelurks for you."

"I'll bet you can't name one person who meets that qualification."

"I'll take that bet, and raise you one Paladin Danse."

"Okay... Well, I bet you can't name-"

He holds up his fingers and starts ticking them off, "Cait, Hancock, Strong, that little guy Kent Connolly… Do you want me to go on? Because I could go on. But keep in mind you just lost two bets and I'm going to call them in sooner rather than later."

"Alright, fair enough, but you have to allow that Strong doesn't count because he would happily strap a bomb to his chest and blow an empty building to hell if someone told him it was the right thing to do. And he also believes in something called 'Sandy Claws', so, you know, you have to take that into consideration."

"Alright, I'll give you Strong."

"Thank you."

"But that's still more than one person." He smiles smugly. "And I won two bet, so now you're in my debt."

"Well since I own your ass I guess it's only fair. What do you want? A new wig? A Nuka-girl tee? I think I may have found one in the last hotel we scavenged from. I may or may not have taken it off a corpse."

"The wig or the tee?"

"Either."

He pretended to consider for a moment. "A tempting offer, but no thanks. I was thinking of something a little different." He stood up and extended his hand to me. "Come on boss."

"I hope you don't expect me to do anything that requires effort." I allow him to pull me to my feet.

I'm suddenly hyper aware that his hand is callused and rough, and mine in slightly clammy. I try to pull my hand away, but he doesn't release it.

"So how will I be repaying my debt today?" I ask him with a lazy grin, trying to hide my awkward discomfort.

"A dance." He says.

No charming smile accompanies this comment.

"Are you serious?"

He says nothing more, opening his other arm as an invitation.

Not for the first time I wish I could see his eyes.

Crazy He Calls Me begins to play softly on the radio as I place my hand on his shoulder and he slides his arm around my waist. As we sway to Billie Holiday, it doesn't take me long to realize that I like being held in his arms. But Deacon isn't acting like himself. There's no oozing charming, heart-stopping smile, or smooth compliments, but I think I can feel something… different. Not a bad different. At least, I don't think so. He seems to be content just holding me, apparently un-bothered by our close proximity.

"You seem tense."

His voice is steady, but I think I detect a trace of... Uncertainty? Hurt? Worry? In the tone of his voice.

Whatever it is, it's unusual for Deacon to appear so insecure.

I find it kind of endearing actually.

"I'm sorry, I'm just not used to dancing, that's all. I haven't been held this close since..."

I let the sentence trail off, but Deacon seems to understand. I do my best to relax as he pulls me closer to his chest.

The sound of our feet shuffling through the dirt is so loud I almost can't hear the music anymore, but I'm happy.

I'm not so sure about Deacon.

I try to read any kind of emotion on his face, but his expression is impenetrable thanks to those damn glasses.

"Looking for something in particular, or just looking?"

"Just looking. Am I making you nervous?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Yep. I was definitely making him nervous.

I grin up at him, reveling (somewhat) in his discomfort. "You look great in a suit, by the way. It's like you were a bodyguard in another life."

"In another life? What do you think I've been doing for you in this life?"

"Tagging along to crack jokes and find out everybody's secrets."

"See? Bodyguard."

The song changes, but I can't really hear to what. Deacon doesn't seem to notice.

He clears his throat. "I meant to say something earlier, but you clean up pretty good Charms."

"For the five minutes before I experienced an 'unforeseen' wardrobe malfunction. Too bad nobody warned me against it. Oh wait! I did."

"You still wore it."

"Only because I thought it made me look sexy, and I wanted to look sexy because I haven't been able to do that in over two hundred years."

He spins me smoothly around a chunk of stone. "Well, you still look sexy, just in a shorter dress."

My heart flutters. "I don't think I've ever been on the receiving end of one of your compliments before."

"Hm. Sounds like something I need to work on."

"You really do."

As he maneuvers us around the rubble and heavy artillery, I discover that being his dance partner is just as easy as being his partner in a gunfight. We work well together.

"You're a pretty good dancer."

"I'm classically trained."

I laugh as he twirls me around again before pulling me back into his embrace, this time resting his cheek on the top of my head.

I bite back a silly smile. I can't tell whether his heart is beating fast because of the dance, or because he's enjoying our flirtation as much as I am. Either way, I'm feeling extraordinarily happy.

The song ends, and so does our dance.

"Everything alright Deacon?" I ask after a moment or two of silence.

"I was just thinking… You lost two bets."

I roll my eyes. "Alright, one more dance. But only because I'm enjoying myself."

"I don't think I want another dance."

I pull back and look up at him. "Then what do you want?"

That unfamiliar uncertainty seems to have crept back in, and he hesitates. "Well… I haven't really decided yet."

We stare at each other for the space of a moment, and though I can't see his eyes I'm sure they're boring into mine.

"I don't believe you."

"Really?"

I bite my lip. I'm not sure what he wants, but I know what I hope he wants.

I summon up my courage and reach for the rim of his glasses. He doesn't move away, and as I pull them off his face I see his eyes for the first time.

They're not what I expected. Deep set, dark. Without the glasses, he looks just like any other man. But he isn't like any other man, and there's something in his gaze that makes me feel bold.

I lean forward.

He tips his head towards mine.

Time seems to stretch.

His face is now inches from mine, close enough for me to see the lines in his face and smell the sweat on his skin. The faint scent of cigarettes is on his shirt.

Our eyes are locked.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pause as he takes in a sharp breath.

It's now or never.

"Thank you for the dance," I whisper, then close my eyes and take the plunge.

His lips aren't soft, but the kiss is passionate. His arms tighten around me till I almost can't breathe, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

I kiss like a woman who's been without air. He kisses like a man who's falling, and I'm his tether.

When we finally separate, I'm out of breath. I can feel my hair standing in every direction.

He looks slightly shell shocked. "Wow."

I feel a giddy grin rise to my face. "Yeah."

"Do you mind if we…?"

"Please."


End file.
